


Such Fruits

by ShayneScribbler



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Communication, Dwalin puts up with too much crap, Injured Thorin, M/M, Thorin isn't allowed to be majestic all the time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 04:01:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShayneScribbler/pseuds/ShayneScribbler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dwalin is worried. And frustrated. He really hates complicated emotions. In fact, he dislikes anything that can't be solved with a weapon or his fists. Thorin is one of those things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Such Fruits

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dishenvy](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Dishenvy).



> Since I don't have the means to properly write new chapters for my current long work (sorry guys!) I've been taking prompts from a friendand writing one shots until I'm back home. Gotta keep them writing muscles toned and in use. This is for you Dishenvy. I'm not sure how you get me to write things I don't even ship.

Dwalin watched Thorin stumble away from the Company's barely made camp at the base of the Carrock with a mixture of worry and irritation. Neither emotion sat particarly well with the large dwarf. He was a dwarrow of few words and simple feelings. He disliked complexities. Complexities couldn't be handled with his axes or fists. And Thorin made him feel all manner of complicated things. 

The worry eventually won out over his irritation with his old friend and Dwalin grunted at his brother and wandered off after his king. He found Thorin struggling uselessly with his chest plate by the shallow stream they had found for a water source. 

The warg's jaws had dented and mangled the clasps and hard leather plates to the point that Dwalin doubted the garment could be removed without cutting it off. 

Thorin turned and glared at him as Dwalin let out a bark of mirthless laughter. He may have been truly amused if he wasn't still suffering under the oppressive cloaks of worry and frustration. 

"Are you going to assist me?" Thorin demanded with his customary growl and frown. "Or have you merely come to watch my misfortunes?"

Dwalin rolled his eyes and ignored Thorin. If he had truly been displeased he wouldn't have spoken at all. Dwalin was long used to Thorin's mercurial words and expressions. They had always made quite the pair; each understanding the intricacies of the other's brand of emotional constipation. 

"I may," Dwalin rumbled back, still mildly angry with his king. "If ye ask me nice."

Thorin, predictably, scoffed at him, brows drawing even further down over his eyes, and continued his fruitless struggle with stiff, pain-filled motions. Dwalin could see how he favored his right arm, which had escaped the teeth of the warg. 

Dwalin bit back a resigned sigh, knowing that Thorin would spurn his help entirely if such a noise reached his ears, and wandered over to his struggling friend. 

The other dwarf twitched when Dwalin's hand pressed into his shoulder and he felt his worry rise a few notches. Thorin's wounds were worse than he let on. 

"No need to trouble yourself," Thorin snapped, his tone full on royal snit and stubborn pride. "I will manage."

"No ye won't," Dwalin reprimanded tersely, forcing Thorin's arms away from the useless clasps with much less effort than it would normally take to push the other around. Gripping firmly at the leather strap, Dwalin drew out one of his axes and carefully sawed it in half. Ignoring Thorin's protests, he continued until the entire piece was hanging loosely and yanked it unceremoniously over his head. Thorin wheezed in pain and Dwalin eyed the patches of blood that had soaked into Thorin's undershirt. 

There was more than he had expected and much of it had dried already. Removing the shirt would most likely reopen most of the wounds, but that couldn't be helped. 

"I think I can manage now," Thorin groused as Dwalin began to tackle the laces of the shirt, but made no move to stop him. 

Dwalin ignored him and drew the undone shirt off bruised shoulders. He hissed as he saw the punctures and tears where the leather hadn't held up against the crushing jaws. It was bad, but whatever the wizard had done had obviously taken care of the worst of it. A couple of the newly bared wounds began to sluggishly ooze fresh blood, shiny against the pasty and flaked texture of the old. 

Dwalin balled up the ruined shirt and dipped it in the stream, then set about washing off the worst of the mess. Thorin grumbled but did not resume his protests. For some reason this final act of grudging submission was what finally fanned his simmering ire into a full fledged rage. 

Tossing the shirt to the side and ignoring Thorin's unverbalized question, Dwalin stripped down out of his clothes. Heedless of the cursing and struggles it brought on, he treated Thorin to the same, then hauled the injured dwarf over his shoulder and trudged into the deepest part of the creek within twenty meters of them. 

Thorin swore colorfully as he was dumped into the cold water, words momentarily cut off as he missed his footing and went under. He came up coughing and sputtering and red with a rage to match the one simmering in Dwalin's chest. 

"What is the matter with you!?" Thorin demanded, spitting water out along with the angry words. 

"With me?" Dwalin returned, eyes burning with accusation. "I was not the idiot who charged alone at a mounted foe. I was not the one who would be dead were it not for the quick thinking of a hobbit and wizard!"

Thorin flinched at the raw accusations, his anger faltering under the assault. His shoulders trembled under his wet hair, body unable to combat the chill of the water in its weakened state and Dwalin's anger faded once more to worry and frustration, now tinged with guilt. He should not have treated Thorin so roughly while injured, even if the stubborn fool deserved it. He pulled them both from the stream and used his own shirt to dry them as best he could. 

"I did not come on this fools errand of a quest to watch you die for a long lost mountain nor for revenge on all your long past grievances," Dwalin continued, dragging their packs over as an excuse to avoid looking Thorin in the eye as he said these words. He knew very well how obsessive Thorin was over all that life had beaten from him over the years. "I came in the hopes that I will be able to keep you alive in order to enjoy the victories and lives we may win from this, even if I must lay down my life to see you have them."

His voice was lower and softer than usual by the end and when he finally looked around at his king he could not quite decipher the look in Thorin's eyes. 

"I would not have you die for me," Thorin croaked and held up a hand to stave off Dwalin's protests. "If only because there would be no joy in such fruits that may be won if I could not share them with you."

Dwalin is left speechless by this admission his heart pounding in his chest louder than the battles of the stone giants in the mountains. Not quite sure what to say and cursing his shortness of words (his earlier bout of eloquence long since gone), Dwalin busied himself with digging out clothing that was dry and mostly clean. 

He thrust a set at Thorin and busied himself with his own garments. When he had buckled his belt and shrugged into his coat he glanced up at Thorin. The king's face was somber as he struggled into his underclothes and pants, his mouth drawn into a tight line. Dwalin rolled his eyes and stepped forward to help the other dwarf dress. Obviously Thorin was not as astute at reading his silences as he was at reading Thorin's. 

"I would wish to...share such...fruits with you too," he muttered out awkwardly, wincing over the awkward and overly sentimental phrasing. Dwalin did not do sentiment unless it was delivered with a swing of his hammer. 

It was worth it, though, to see Thorin's eyes widen with surprise and his hands fumble enough to drop his new undershirt in the damp dirt and rocks under their feet. Dwalin scooped it up and pulled it gracelessly over Thorin's head. Thorin swore and flailed for a moment before he managed to get his arms sorted into their respective sleeves. Dwalin took to opportunity to scoop up their belongings and turn back to camp. By the time Thorin caught up with him they were close enough to the rest of the Company that Thorin did not attempt to push further into their recent revelations. Dwalin breathed out in relief. He had had enough of difficult emotions for one day. 

 

 

Three nights from their episode at the creek found the Company safely ensconced under Beorn's roof, well fed and content for the first time since they had left Bilbo's snug hobbit hole. 

Gandalf and the hobbit had retreated to the front garden to smoke and chat. Fili and Kili were asleep, their bedrolls laid out by the dying embers of the evening's fire. Dwalin found himself wandering out to the peace and solitude of the back garden, taking a seat on the steps and leaving the door open in order to keep the light and cheer from inside with him. 

He sat in silence and watched the stars peek in and out between clouds overhead, his mind for once in a philosophical mood as he pondered the heavens. 

They were drawing ever closer to the mountain, nothing but a forest and a few weeks march away. And yet he felt no burgeoning sense of purpose or homecoming. Only a hard pit of building trepidation lodged firmly in his gut. He remembers their first sunlit glimpse of the mountain, just before they descended the Carrock. The memory now seemed dimmer and more sinister. If he were one to be inclined to superstition he would describe it as a herald of doom. As a seasoned warrior he preferred to think of it as gut instinct. You didn't last long as a soldier without good instincts and Dwalin's were screaming at him. 

A hand on his shoulder startles him out of his thoughts. 

"You look unaccountably grim," Thorin scolded. "For being in such comfort and safety."

Dwalin shrugged, giving a noncommittal grunt. How was he to explain his worries to someone who's entire being was focused on one single goal. 

Thorin moved around to crouch in front of him, eyes hard with all sorts of words that Dwalin suddenly didn't want to hear. He had no stomach for speeches about Erebor and the glory of the home and line of Durin. 

Before Thorin could speak, Dwalin grabbed him around the neck and hauled him into a bruising kiss. Thorin's hands landed as awkward braces against Dwalin's thighs, his nose pressed uncomfortably into a bearded cheek and lips unaligned. Grunting in displeasure, Dwalin released Thorin's neck and used one hand to haul the other's hips onto his lap, the other to tilt his head into a more pleasing position. Thorin was stiff with surprise in his arms, but slowly relaxed and wound his hands into Dwalin's beard to seal their lips more tightly. 

Unwanted conversation successfully derailed, Dwalin reached behind himself to shut the door and grant them some more privacy. His hand left Thorin's hip to press on the growing bulge in the others pants. A groan was fed into his mouth and he drove his tongue forward, fucking Thorin's mouth in pale imitation of the good hard treatment he wanted to give the dwarf's ass. Another night. When he wasn't woefully unprepared and Thorin wasn't still hiding a limp and pretending to be uninjured. 

For now, he tore at belts and laces until both of them were bared to the evening air and he could wrap his fist around both their erections. The first stroke pulled a growl from his recalcitrant friend-turned-lover. And Dwalin decided that Thorin was not allowed such a manly, controlled noise while he was seated in Dwalin's lap. Right now, Thorin was his and would surrender to him in body and mind and that included any sound that may issue from his mouth. 

He tightened his grip and stroked them faster, rougher. Thorin choked out a long moan, still too controlled for Dwalin's wants. He bit at Thorin's mouth in reproach, demanding submission, but was unsurprised when the other merely pressed back defiantly. 

In a last effort, feeling his gut begin to coil and tense and Thorin's thighs start to tremble and clench around his, hips stuttering, he took his hand from Thorin's face and shoved it into the back a the dwarrow's pants. His large fingers caught in the fabric and as he fumbled Thorin caught on to his plan and attempt to arch away from the clawing hand. In the end, he managed to wiggle his index finger down the crease of firm buttocks and press firmly up against the furled muscle hidden within. 

Thorin arched and tore away from Dwalin's mouth with a satisfying wail, come spurting up between their bodies. Dwalin followed him into glorious release. 

Thorin's entire body sagged forward to rest on Dwalin's chest as their bodies sat cooling in the night air. The mountain loomed somewhere off in the distance. But for now Dwalin was content to languish on Beorn's back steps and enjoy the easy silence granted by orgasm and a satisfied partner. 

In the here and now, there was no white Orc, no dragon or lost home, no treasure but their own body heat and a moment of easy relaxation. Such things never lasted, but for Dwalin it was enough. 


End file.
